


Heaven Can Wait

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's only being a stickler because he feels like pissing Luke off. Well, that, and he likes to watch as Luke bends over, young, tight, pale ass flexing as he stoops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of past Mohinder/Sylar. Luke is 17.
> 
> _Runner Up Best PWP at the Heroes Slash Awards Summer 2009_

Fresh from the shower, Sylar sits on the bed with a towel around his waist. He flicks the TV channels idly until he finds a news report. He clucks his tongue at the sight of the carnage they'd left behind; he had expected Special Ops to have a better clean up team than that. It's a good thing he had Luke drop the dime to the local news hotline or the mysterious black van and its macabre contents might never have been headline news. Neither he nor Luke are mentioned by name, of course, it's an "unknown assailant," considered "armed and dangerous," and Sylar almost likes that more than when there're shadowy pictures of himself splashed across the newspapers.

Luke seems like he's out the bathroom split seconds after he went in, but he's damp all over so he must have at least stepped under the shower spray. He dumps his clothes in a crumpled pile, whining when, as he tries to settle beside Sylar, Sylar shoves him off the bed.

"I'm not your mother, Luke. I won't clean up after you."

He ignores Luke's grumbles and watches as he moodily folds his clothes. Sylar couldn't care less about neatness, other than if Luke looks too dishevelled the next day, they'll attract unwanted attention. He's only being a stickler because he feels like pissing Luke off. Well, that, and he likes to watch as Luke bends over, young, tight, pale ass flexing as he stoops.

"Perv," Luke mutters. He doesn't need to turn around to know he's being watched.

Sylar holds his tongue, and holds his cock. Stroking himself teasingly to punish Luke for being a smartass. As soon as Luke spins back to him, ears all but pricking up at the sound of skin on skin, Sylar stops, holding himself loosely round his base.

"Do you want it?" Sylar asks, though the answer's obvious. Luke's been sporting wood since he woke, confused and _grateful_ in the car. He nods.

"So, stop being a brat and come get it."

Sylar lifts a challenging eyebrow but either Luke is too horny to take the bait or he's still making good on having his life saved, because he scuttles over without talking back for once. He wrenches Sylar's knees apart, rough to prove a point, Sylar supposes, but it only makes Sylar laugh. When Luke glares at him for chuckling, taking Sylar straight to the back of his throat, instead of groaning, impressed, as he's sure Luke wants him to, all Sylar can think is that he's trained his little cocksucker well.

Luke bobs his head quickly, lips damp and clamped tight around Sylar's girth, tongue swishing busily from side to side as he slurps up and down. Luke hardly gags at all, and Sylar's begrudgingly impressed at how well Luke's picked this up. Then again, Sylar thinks charitably, he does give Luke lots of chance to practice. By now, Luke knows him well enough to get Sylar off in almost no time at all. And since he seems on some petty vendetta to prove his worth, Luke pulls out all the stops, rolling Sylar's balls and tugging at his hips, urging Sylar to rise up off the sheets and fuck his mouth.

Luke groans, deep in his throat, swallowing around the head of Sylar's cock. His plump lips are flushed, bright red and swollen and when Sylar looks down, there's spit and pre-come dribbling messily from the corner of his mouth. But it's Luke's lust-blown eyes, staring steadily up at Sylar as he sucks his dick and the way he times his groans to match the speed at which Sylar bucks his hips, as if having his throat rubbed raw is getting Luke off too, that has Sylar spilling in his mouth. Luke swallows like Sylar's taught him and there's only the faintest flicker of a grimace as he does so.

Luke crawls smugly up Sylar's body, hovering over him and waiting, but Sylar simply cocks his head to the side and stares straight back. It's a futile battle of wills that Luke never has a chance of winning. If Sylar lets loose some praise or affectionate remark, it'll be of his own violation not because Luke blew him. Sylar lets Luke kiss him only until he can no longer taste himself on Luke's tongue. But Luke isn't put off when Sylar turns his head away, moving instead to mouth down Sylar's neck and nibble at his collarbone.

Luke's still hard and it's about now that Luke will usually try to rub up against him or take Sylar's hand in his own, begging for a handjob. Instead, he's moving lower again, tugging only once or twice at his own cock before nestling his nose in Sylar's pelvic crease.

"Luke?" Sylar says, and despite Luke's grin, Luke hasn't scored a point. Intrigued isn't the same as impressed. Curious isn't the same as caring what Luke's up to.

"Like sucking you," Luke mumbles, mouth already latching to Sylar's balls. And really, that's a sentiment that Sylar can't argue with. He grunts far from eloquently and lets Luke have this. It doesn't feel like conceding when Sylar's the one getting the better end of the deal.

Sylar can't get hard again so soon, but it still feels good as Luke's fingers rub over his perineum, again and again. He presses in just hard enough to make Sylar roll his hips, grinding himself down to make Luke's touch firmer: more friction, less tickle. With one of Sylar's testicles in his mouth, Luke groans appreciatively at the way Sylar writhes. His fingers stroke confidently up to the base of Sylar's balls and back down again to sneak into the furrow between Sylar's ass cheeks, skimming lightly over his asshole as he goes.

Sylar's sac falls from his mouth with a lewd _pop_ and Luke nuzzles against Sylar's now flaccid dick. He licks a slow, sloppy stripe along the wrinkled skin between Sylar's balls and uses his lips to leave gentle, sucking kisses as he mouths back down the spit-slick trail he's left behind. When he hums, Sylar moaning at the pleasant rumble that echoes through him, Luke jabs one dry finger at Sylar's asshole, hard and fast and rough.

"Ow! You little shit!" he yelps. It's unexpected and it hurts.

Luke snaps backwards, narrowly eluding Sylar's hand as he tries to snatch Luke by the hair and yank him up to slap him. Sylar hisses, sliding up the bed, further away from Luke and the reckless things that he might try. The scrape from Luke's nail has already healed, and although the burn of dry friction has faded, the memory of the pain is strong.

"Please," Luke begs when he should be pleading for forgiveness. He lurches forward, hands out to caress Sylar's thighs, head ducking down to bury in Sylar's crotch once more.

"Please," he says again, sliding his hands under Sylar's ass, cupping both cheeks in his palms and kneading the firm flesh there.

It feels good, but Sylar's pissed off, now, so he kicks him, growling as Luke sprawls painfully across the floor. It's more reflex than true punishment. Sylar thinks that Luke should thank his lucky stars that he's in a mellow mood tonight.

He watches as Luke drags himself up, wincing a little on unsteady feet. To his credit, Luke hasn't cried out and Sylar rolls his eyes to see that Luke's still achingly hard. He can't tell if Luke's horny from the blowjob and his attempt on Sylar's ass or if Sylar's haphazard abuse is bringing out the masochist in him. Sylar wouldn't be surprised if Luke likes the rough treatment more than he lets on. After all, he never says stop and he always crawls back for more.

Luke gingerly touches his ribs, where the ball of Sylar's foot has struck him. He frowns at Sylar and the growing bruise but doesn't complain. They both know that if Sylar really wanted to hurt him, he'd be in far more pain.

"What the hell was that?" Sylar demands.

Luke stammers, "Nothing. I just, y'know…"

"Yeah, well, next time you want to _just y'know_ you'd better grab some lube first."

"Wait… does that mean I can…?" Luke's looking more flustered by the second and it only makes Sylar grin more wickedly.

"Finger me? Sure, yeah, I like that," Sylar says, a bit more eagerly than he intends.

"And if I want to fuck you?" Luke's voice is bold but he cringes away as he says the words, as if he expects to be hurled violently against the wall. Not an unreasonable assumption, Sylar thinks. But as tight as the kid's ass is, Sylar's been yearning for something more himself; not that he won't make Luke work for it first.

"Is that what you were going to do? Try and shove your cock in me with no prep and no warning?"

Luke gives him a lazy, one shouldered shrug.

"I would've sliced your dick off."

Luke rolls his eyes like he doesn't quite believe the threat. Sylar thinks he won't be laughing if he pulls this stunt again; groin wounds make such a mess.

"And, now that you've had warning?" Luke ventures with a cocky smirk and a wheedling voice.

Sylar flicks an appraising gaze up and down Luke's naked body. He isn't much to look at, not Sylar's type at all---in so much as Sylar has a type. The only other man that Sylar's been with is Mohinder, and Luke and Mohinder are as different as night and day. Luke is pale where Mohinder was dark, and soft around the edges where Mohinder seemed made of sharp curves and firm planes. But not every difference is in Mohinder's favour: Luke's pliant where Mohinder was demanding, malleable where Mohinder liked to take control. Most of all, Sylar understands Luke where he could never quite see how Mohinder ticked. Sylar knows Luke well enough to see that if he lets Luke have this, his devotion will be tenfold. Frankly, Sylar could use the extra peace and quiet. And it's no hardship to give into something that Sylar's been aching for since this first began.

"Do you have a condom, Luke?" he asks.

Luke frowns. They don't have condoms on hand because Sylar never uses them. Luke hasn't once complained and Sylar isn't going to look out for him if he's not going to think about his own safety. Luke never thinks about the consequences of his actions. If he did, they wouldn't be here.

"Wait!" Luke says, voice cracking in his excitement. He stumbles to his neatly folded cords, rumpling them again as he pats the pockets for his wallet. From the depths within, Luke extracts a dog-eared, ancient condom and flips it triumphantly at Sylar's chest.

The foil is well thumbed and Sylar thinks that Luke must have taken it out wistfully many times before only to tuck it back away again, rejected. Luke's shifting nervously from foot to foot, his usual bravado slipping as he waits to see if he'll strike out again.

"How old is this?" Sylar laughs.

Luke blushes but rallies, not letting Sylar's teasing distract him from his goal. "I bought it in tenth grade?"

Two years ago but according to the printed expiration, miraculously still in date. Sylar looks from the condom to Luke to Luke's cock and to the condom again. It's been too long since he's had someone inside him and Sylar's never been one to let an opportunity pass him by. In the end, as it always is, it's his own desires not any thought for Luke's that makes up Sylar's mind.

"Go find some lube then," he says. Luke stares at him, slack-jawed and unmoving.

"Are… are you serious?"

"Now, Luke," he snaps, laughing at Luke's bewildered expression and the way he bolts to the bathroom, engorged cock swaying heavily between his legs.

Sylar hears Luke swear and the shatter and clatter of something unidentifiable that Luke's knocked over in his haste. He's back in double-quick time, panting as he offers his hands forward, showing Sylar a mismatched medley of travel-size bottles.

"I wasn't sure…" he says, pushing them eagerly under Sylar's nose.

Sylar gives a condescending smile. Luke doesn't seem sure how any of this works, and although Sylar sees through Luke's overconfidence for what it is---a shield to protect himself from a world that seeks to grind him down---he's surprised that at this, Luke forges ahead without his usual world-weary air. But then, Sylar's not sure if Luke was into other men before Sylar, or if maybe he was like Gabriel, too withdrawn from the world to be into anyone at all. Sylar's never asked, partly because he doesn't care who Luke used to be and partly because he's never been in the mood to expose himself to Luke's no doubt righteous indignation at the suggestion that he might have ever been as simpering as Gabriel.

Sylar picks through the bottles, tossing aside shower gel and scoffing at shampoo. He plucks unscented lotion from the pile and jerks his chin at Luke, motioning for him to put the rest back where he found them. When Luke gets back, Sylar's hitched himself up with a pillow under his hips as he sits up against the headboard.

Luke's breathing heavily at the mere sight of him with his legs spread and his spent cock hardening, Sylar's refractory period diminished under Luke's relentless, teenaged persistence. But, when Luke goes to take the lotion, Sylar holds it out of reach.

"Wait," he says and he might as well have said _stay_ or _heel_ because, like a well-trained dog, Luke's hand pauses in the air, arm quivering as he waits for Sylar's next command.

Sylar teases his fingers up Luke's too-hard shaft, wetting his fingertips with the pre-come sliding down Luke's length. Luke feels impossibly hot and the thick vein at his underside is pulsing fast. Sylar's not sure he's ever been as aroused as Luke looks right now. His flesh is taut, dick curving up towards his belly, straining towards his navel, with a tight sac, hanging heavy, so close up against his body. Even the whisper-soft caress of Sylar's fingers is enough to make Luke's cock jump and his thighs tremble, Luke swaying where he stands.

Luke is far too turned on, too close to losing it before they've even begun, so Sylar wraps his hand around Luke's cock and squeezes lightly.

"No," Luke whines. "Please, Sylar, I can't."

"Can't what, Luke?" Sylar presses because it makes his own dick throb when he forces Luke to admit his inadequacies, to own up to his inexperience when usually Luke is so goddamned smug.

"You know! Please," Luke whimpers, face flushed with arousal and shame as Sylar slides his hand up torturously, making more wetness leak from Luke's already glistening tip.

"Say it," Sylar orders. He swipes his thumb cruelly under the ridge of Luke's cock, finding that spot that makes Luke shudder and working rapid circles against his skin.

"I'm gonna come," he pants in desperation. "I can't… can't last."

"I know," Sylar says mildly. He pumps Luke quicker and although Luke keens, in pleasure and in protest, he doesn't fight against Sylar's touch. So Sylar keeps going, until Luke is thrusting into his fist and white streaks of semen are dribbling down his knuckles.

Sylar wipes his soiled hand on Luke's hip and inner thighs, smiling to himself at the wet sheen Luke's come leaves on his coppery-blonde body hair, so light that it's almost as if it isn't there. When Luke stops trembling and he opens his eyes, he scowls at Sylar, biting his lip, seemingly caught between sobbing and spitting in Sylar's face.

"Relax," Sylar says because Luke really does look upset that Sylar could let things go so far. He knows that look of betrayal, having seen it only once before, and an unfamiliar twinge of guilt tugs at Sylar's chest.

"You're seventeen, Luke; you can get it up again." Sylar tries to laugh it off but Luke still doesn't seem at ease. Instead of lashing out, or punishing Luke for being petulant, Sylar finds that he's tugging Luke down over him, one hand buried in Luke's thick, unruly hair and kissing him softly.

"It'll be better with the edge off," Sylar promises, words whispered against Luke's lips. "It'll be more fun this way."

He's not sure if it's his words, because it seems like Luke isn't really listening, or the kisses that Luke's still too lazily post-coital to properly return, but he seems to settle down again, caressing Sylar's chest. Maybe all he needed was Sylar's reassuring touch because when Sylar nudges him back to study his face, gently stroking his cheek, Luke shudders almost as meaningfully as when he'd come. Tenderness isn't the norm between them---they're too much alike to do anything but squabble for dominance---but sometimes, rarely, Sylar sees more of himself in Luke than he'd like and he can't help but give the begrudging show of affection that Gabriel pined for as much as Luke needs it now.

Sylar presses the bottle into Luke's hand and spreads his legs a little wider. "Go on."

Luke scurries down the bed, his skin a sex-flushed pink from shoulders to groin, cock still plump and his hands shaking so slightly that Sylar wouldn't notice it if he hadn't been looking. He watches Luke carefully coat two fingers, slopping on far more of the cream than they really need. He takes a deep breath and swallows loudly before pushing Sylar's thighs even wider and pulling apart his ass cheeks. It takes all of Sylar's self-control not to laugh at the melodrama of it all. There's nothing down there that Luke hasn't seen before but he's thrumming with an anticipation that's contagious, and Sylar's starting to feel a little ludicrously giddy too.

With slick fingertips, Luke traces around the ring of puckered skin but he's too eager to really tease and presses two fingers in as soon as Sylar nods his permission. Sylar lifts his cock and balls in his hand and curls his body to forward to watch as best he can as Luke's fingers push into him, exploring with little grace but lots of awestruck wonder.

"Oh god," Luke moans, delving deeper, and Sylar hums happily in reply because _fuck_ if this doesn't feel good, better even than it should when his eidetic memory reminds him exactly how good Montana had been too.

Luke's had this done to him enough to need no real direction. He wriggles his fingers until Sylar groans and then separates them carefully, stretching Sylar out so much more gently than Sylar would have expected. But Sylar's been rough enough with Luke for the both of them, and he thinks that this might be Luke's way of letting him know that a little compassion wouldn't be amiss next time he's fucking Luke into the mattress.

Luke's never been good at listening to Sylar, so Sylar shifts wordlessly to the left, then down a bit until Luke's fingers are brushing near his prostate. He hisses out a breath when Luke's probing fingers accidentally hit the mark.

"There?" Luke asks, breathless, as he strokes that spot again.

"_Yes_," Sylar moans, breathless, too, himself. He lets his head fall back to the pillows and drops his sac to fondle just his cock.

"Don't stop," he has to order when Luke stills, transfixed as Sylar strokes himself.

"Okay," he babbles. "Yeah, okay."

Luke twists his fingers round, circling inside Sylar, once, twice and then landing over his prostate again, tapping lightly, pressing, ghosting over it and teasing to test Sylar's reactions. All the while his eyes dart from Sylar's face, to Sylar's stretched hole, to Sylar's hand where he's lazily jerking off.

"You've gotta let me see that again sometime," Luke says in a quick, breathless rush, nodding towards Sylar's cock. "Fucking hot," he mutters.

Sylar smiles, not too far gone yet to tease, and brings his free hand up to grope his chest, tweaking his nipples and groaning when Luke's jaw falls open at the sight.

"Concentrate, Luke," he warns.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

Then, Luke's winding tight, quick spirals inside him, driving Sylar towards the brink as expertly as Sylar does to him.

"Yeah," Luke moans in reply to Sylar's gasping breaths. "I like it when you do it like this too."

When Luke clambers up Sylar's body, kissing him possessively as his fingers thrust faster and harder into Sylar's ass, Sylar thinks that he could easily get off from this alone. Mohinder loved to do this, to play with "Zane's" ass until he came, just to watch him come, Sylar's hot spunk, splattering between their bodies as Mohinder grinned down at him. Luke's fingers feel as good or maybe better; there's no pretence between them and when Luke comes he calls out Sylar's real name.

But Luke won't settle for fingering him when Sylar's promised him a hard, honest fuck. So, Sylar rolls his hips back, lifting himself off Luke's fingers and kissing away his frown of confusion.

"Another?" Luke asks, holding up three fingers.

Maybe it's cruel when Sylar raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Luke's cock. Even fully hard again, as Sylar knew he'd be, Luke's smaller than Sylar. But smaller is by no means _small_ and it's unfair of Sylar to make him insecure but Luke's so damned cocksure about everything that it's habit by now for Sylar to knock him down a peg or two whenever the opportunity arises. Luke's blissed out smile starts to falter and Sylar catches that pouting bottom lip between his teeth, tugging playfully as he presses the condom to Luke's palm.

"Don't rip it," Sylar cautions. "We haven't got another one."

He watches fascinated as Luke carefully wipes off each of his slippery fingers on the corner of the bed sheet and then, with almost comical precision, carefully tears the foil. He examines the latex disc for a moment before putting it to the head of his cock. Sylar lets him struggle for a moment before helping out.

"Flip it over," he says, smirking as Luke blushes.

"Oh. Okay, yeah. Got it!" he says as he rolls the condom fully down. He strokes himself, feeling his cock through the unfamiliar layer of latex, getting used to how it feels when the sensations on his dick are slightly dulled.

"Hm," Luke grumbles and Sylar thinks that Luke had better not push his luck; he's the only one who's ever going to bareback in this relationship. Then, Luke seems to remember that the condom is a means to an end and he's walking forward on his knees, pressing the blunt head of his dick to the crease of Sylar's ass.

"Hey! Not yet!"

"What?"

Luke's dazed enough already that Sylar sits and grabs the lotion himself, dumping most of what's left directly to Luke's cock, not caring when Luke yelps at the cold. He slicks it along Luke's length, shaking his head at the way Luke groans at the slide of his fist. He's being rough in his impatience but he suspects that only turns Luke on more.

Sylar dabs the last of the lotion on his fingers and pushes it inside his ass. For a moment, Sylar thinks that Luke might come from watching him alone, not a finger laid upon him, filling up the condom at the eroticism of the sight. Then, Luke exhales a "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," and squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the base of his dick until his breathing slows and he dares look up at Sylar again.

"Go on, then," Sylar taunts, splayed out now, waiting.

He's making bets with himself on how long he thinks Luke will last, five minutes? Longer? Ten thrusts, one thrust, or not even that? How ever long he lasts, he won't match Sylar for stamina. Sylar may not have lasted all that long himself, but Mohinder had been kind, doing his best not to topple "Zane" into orgasm too embarrassingly quickly. Sylar's quite certain that he won't extend Luke the same courtesy.

Luke knows enough to guide himself to Sylar's entrance, and has enough restraint to start off slow, although it's more a stop-start pattern of frenzied push and tortured pause in alternating bursts than the measured slide he'll one day learn to master. Then he's all the way inside and _damn_ his angle's good, because the head of his cock is sitting neatly on Sylar's prostate, a pleasant pressure that makes Sylar itch to rock his hips. Luke's peppering frantic kisses to his neck and shoulders, craning up to capture Sylar's lips in an urgent, demanding kiss.

"SylarSylarSylar," he moans without a pause. "I-- Oh fuck, Sylar, I--"

And Sylar kisses him, again, to shut him up. Luke may love him but Sylar doesn't want to hear it like this, midway through his first fuck with not enough blood in his brain to form a coherent sentence. Soon, Luke will say those words when it really means something, when there's nothing to prompt Luke to say it but being overcome by his devotion to him. Then, Sylar will accept it.

"Get it together, Luke," he says, as much a discouragement against saying too much as it is an acknowledgement that Sylar can feel the desperate, little twitches of Luke's hips that reveal his control is shot to hell.

Not that Sylar can really blame him because he's feeling pretty euphoric himself. It feels good, _so good_ to have a cock inside his ass. He's missed this feeling of being stretched out and filled up, the sensations at once both exhilarating and almost excruciatingly pleasurable. It's only a spiteful sense of pride that's stopping him from grabbing Luke's waist and forcing him to ram home, again and again. Well, that and the feeling that Luke wouldn't make it past one good, hard slam before he'd pop.

"Thrust," Sylar growls at him, trying to keep the neediness from his voice. But, as usual, Luke smiles that infuriatingly smug smile that says he knows Sylar far better than Sylar would ever let either of them admit. He rolls his hips, testing the waters before giving a series of short, short jerks, tapping Sylar's prostate with the kind of accuracy he really shouldn't have mastered yet.

And Sylar must have grunted or groaned or even called out Luke's name in pleasure because, hovering above, biceps quaking as he holds himself up, sweat beading on his forehead, Luke is chuckling like he's the one in charge. All Sylar has to do is clench his ass in retaliation and Luke's arms give out. He collapses down to Sylar's chest, hard and sudden and knocking the breath from him, and Sylar thinks that he must let Luke eat far too much junk food because, sprawled on him like this, Luke seems to weigh a lot.

Their skin is slick with sweat and clammy, hot where they're pressed together and sticking as they try to inch apart to breathe. They're squirming to regain some sense of balance and momentum but every shift of their bodies is another half-thrust of cock in ass and it frays further the tattered edges of their restraint. Sylar will be damned if he'd admit it but he feels as near far gone as he knows Luke is, and neither of them have even touched his dick.

"Come on, Luke," he grunts. "No one likes a bad lay."

"If I'm so bad," he snaps back. "Then why are you dripping all over yourself?"

It might be true, but Sylar bites Luke's mouth anyway, tearing his lip because the taste of blood is the only thing that's ever shut Luke up. And then, they're fucking like they fight: rough, messy and with no mercy. Luke's hand has forced its way between them and he's fisting Sylar's cock so violently that Sylar can feel bruises form that heal again along his length. He'd cry foul but Sylar knows that Luke knows just how erotic it feels when his body knits itself back together. The little bastard never could play fair.

When they come, just moments apart because a moment or two is long enough for Sylar to be sure Luke knows that he has lasted longer, they're groaning and grunting and moaning, far past the point where they could say each other's names, or anything else at all.

Luke flops onto his back, spent, chuckling unrepentantly when Sylar growls, the movement yanking Luke's cock too roughly from his ass. Then, Luke's hissing in pain, and shock, as Sylar's hand slaps roughly around his softening dick, stopping the condom from slipping the rest of the way off.

"Deal with that," Sylar orders. His voice is breathless but he still manages menacing and though Luke grumbles, he does as he's told. He ties the condom off and drops it on the bed between them.

"That's disgusting," Sylar says, refusing to look and see how stained the sheets are getting. "If you don't get rid of that, that spot's exactly where you're sleeping."

"Fine, I'll sleep there then."

"Yeah, that's not happening. Throw it in the trash and while you're up, get a washcloth."

Sylar lets Luke's bitching wash over him, closing him eyes until the damp slap of a cloth on his belly rouses him again. He's set to put Luke in his place but he's kissed soundly as soon as his eyes slide open. Tenderness isn't the norm between them, but you can't fight someone who won't fight back. Sylar buries his hand in Luke's hair and kisses Luke as fiercely as he's being kissed.


End file.
